


Shots

by Dancing_Adrift



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, First Time Wincest, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Schmoop, Sibling Incest, clueless!dean, drunk!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift/pseuds/Dancing_Adrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s just had too much one day and needs a little stress relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at Wincest before I got distracted and wrote other things. Figured I ought to finish it! Hope you enjoy :)

Dean slapped his palms flat against the heavy wooden door, just barely preventing it from slamming in his face. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he spotted Sam several feet ahead, his long, determined strides quickly carrying him across the linoleum floor, his gaze locked with the man behind the bar. Halfway to his destination - as soon as he was within hearing distance - he held up two fingers.

“Two shots of Jack, please. And keep ‘em comin’.”

Sam reached the counter and leaned against it, Dean joining him a moment later. The bearded barkeep silently poured two generous shots of the amber liquid and slid them across the bar into Sam’s waiting hands. Sam handed one glass to Dean, lifted his own drink with a small nod in a salute to his brother, then tossed the liquor straight down his throat. He slammed the empty glass on the counter with a hiss and a quick shake of his head, pushing it back across the bar with an expectant look at the bartender who hesitated only a second before he began filling the glass again. 

Dean was less violent when he shot his own drink, and when he returned his glass, he flipped it upside down and met the bartender’s gaze, smiling and nodding in thanks to indicate that he was finished. He glanced over at his brother with subtly widened eyes as Sam pounded back his second shot, another hiss of breath escaping his mouth as the alcohol burned its way down his esophagus. When he shoved his glass back yet again, the bartender gave a questioning glance to Dean who could only shrug cluelessly at him. So he poured the whiskey again and passed it to Sam who quickly downed it and sent it back, clearly still expecting non-stop flow of the hard liquor.

“You boys  _ do _ plan on opening a tab or sumthin’, right?” the man queried, his eyes crinkling in silent amusement. Dean gave his brother a searing glance.

“I dunno, Sam; what’re your plans there, buddy?”

Sam pulled two twenties from his wallet, slapping them on the counter underneath his open palm.

“I’ll have another. Dean, beer?”

Dean reached for his own wallet, drawing out a five and sliding it across the counter, holding his brother’s determined gaze.

“Sure - make it two.”

Dean pulled a stool away from the bar and sat - he was going to enjoy his beer, dammit (no matter what was currently eating at Sam). When Sam had finished his fourth shot, Dean nudged his second beer over to his brother.

Sam accepted the cool bottle and Dean clinked their drinks together before taking a refreshing swallow, observing his brother over the glass neck. Sam downed half of his beer in one long pull.

“Dude - what has gotten  _ into _ you?”

Sam just looked over at him, his hazel-brown eyes intense, but disclosing no information for Dean to decipher. His mouth was pressed in a thin line, and his chest was noticeably rising with each breath. He set his beer close to Dean’s and then turned away, beelining through the smaller tables and an aged pool table to the neon blue-lit jukebox in the back. Dean stared after him, bewildered by his brother’s strange behavior; when Sam inserted several bills into the machine, Dean swiveled away and faced the bar with raised eyebrows and an audible expulsion of air. What the  _ hell _ had gotten into his brother?

To distract himself from his growing consternation concerning Sam, Dean took a moment to really observe his fellow patrons for the first time since they had entered the dusty saloon. It was late afternoon, so there weren’t too many people present besides Dean, Sam, and the bartender. An old man sat towards the end of the scarred wooden bar, dirty overalls and leathery skin indicating that perhaps he was a local, probably a farmer, just in after a long day working the fields, nursing a brandy before likely heading home to his wife and dinner. There was a group of four young women at a small table towards the door, their professional dress, wide smiles, and bottles of beer and cider making Dean think they were maybe skipping the last hour of their nine-to-fives in favor of happy hour with friends. Turning to the open area behind him, he watched as two college-aged boys began setting up a game on the pool table.

Dean was startled out of his musings when the opening chords of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” reached his ears. He turned surprised eyes towards Sam as he returned and joined him in sitting at the bar.

“Seriously dude. What is  _ up _ ? You’re starting to freak me out.”

Sam grabbed his half-empty beer and started peeling off the label, his gaze fixed and concentrated as his long fingers slipped through the condensation and scratched the thin paper away in one soggy line after another.

“I think I need another shot.” Sam looked up from his destroyed bottle, seeking the bartender’s attention again. He lifted his hand, thumb and pointer finger spread in the shape of a shot, silently making his request and the man reached for the bottle.

“Y’know, son, even for a man your size I’m gonna have to cut you off soon. Can’t in good conscience let anyone take more’n six shots in an hour, let alone in ten minutes,” he said with a small chuckle and a slight smile as he obligingly poured the drink. Sam tried stifling one of his patented bitch-faces (don’t bite the hand that serves you liquor, right?), and succeeded in just looking constipated instead. This was just too much for Dean who burst out laughing at his ridiculous brother. When the shot was in Sam’s hand, Dean raised his bottle and toasted his brother once more.

“Here’s to whatever ails ya, Sammy.” With a grin he drank from his beer and Sam finished his shot, shaking his shaggy head, eyes squeezed tight against the burn. His face lit up as Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” began to play over the bar’s speakers. He flashed a goofy grin at his brother and rose from his seat.

“Don’t you ever have those days where you just need to dance, Dean?” Sam started rocking, swaying his hips side to side and around in time with the music, eyes shut and a peaceful look on his face. He started humming along, and ‘singing’ with all the instrumental bits. Dean narrowed his eyes as Sam started vocalizing the electric guitar.

Honestly, he really had no idea what Sam was talking about, but he could only imagine this was Sam’s way of relieving stress. The drinking -  _ that _ Dean could understand. He could get behind that, he mused as he gulped down more of his beer, watching his brother’s uncoordinated dancing, partially in amusement, and partially still in confusion. Along with liquor consumption, Dean’s usual method of stress relief also then involved finding some young, hot, willing companion with whom to pleasantly while away the early morning hours. Sex was  _ fantastic _ for relieving stress. Women particularly had always come easily for Dean Winchester - and they always ‘came’ easily too, because he was just that kind of guy. It was a good thing he wasn’t looking to relieve any stress tonight though, since his only obvious options were in the group of girlfriends laughing together in the corner; Dean was good, but he wasn’t  _ so  _ good that he’d succeed in getting one to leave the herd, and more than one at a time was more than he’d be up for, for tonight at least. But he wasn’t worried about his own needs tonight anyway.

He turned his thoughts back to Sam, wondering why he could possibly be in need of stress relief; after all, as far as Dean knew, it had been a pretty good day - a successful hunt the night before, and then a day on the road with no one around but his brother and his Baby. Said brother was clearly beginning to feel the effects of his rapidly consumed shots - his cheeks were bright red from the liquor and the exertion of his “dancing.” He knew Sam wouldn’t last much longer before Dean’d have to drag him back to their motel so he could sleep it off (probably long before happy hour even ended, if he knew his lightweight brother, which Dean certainly did). Dean blinked as Bad Company’s “Feel Like Making Love” started playing next.

“You picked this?” he shouted at his brother incredulously. Sam’s face impossibly darkened to an even deeper shade of crimson and he nodded sheepishly, eyes aimed towards the floor. He then jerked his head up, his gaze piercing and zeroed in on his brother.

“Yeah. I did. What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’! Just… surprised is all. I thought you hated this kind of music. Or at least just tolerated it because I made you.”

Sam stumbled towards Dean then, his foot tangling with the legs of his stool. He stopped himself from hitting his head on the edge of the counter by grabbing Dean’s arms, which he’d stretched out instinctively to catch him. Dean stood and guided his drunk brother back to sit on top of the offending bar stool.

“Easy there, little brother. You won’t make next Dancing Queen if you keep tripping over your feet.”

“Di’n’t trip over my feet, jerk,” Sam grumbled, but he stayed seated, hunching over, eyes fixed on the floor between his knees. 

“Well then, stop trying to make me your dance partner, bitch.” Dean bit his cheek as he held back the laughter threatening to burst forth and sat back in his seat, reaching again for his beer. Sam glanced up, wide-eyed in surprise that was quickly masked with anger.

“Wouldn’t want you for a partner anyway. Not m’ type,” he groused under his breath, turning to finish what remained of his now warm beer. Dean slapped his shoulder, making Sam spit-choke on the last sip.

“Course not. I’m way outta your league, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes darkened at that, and he rose from his chair, shooting daggers at Dean. He stepped in close, standing between Dean’s knees and looming over Dean’s face, whiskey-warmed breath coming out in heavy puffs.

“Psh. ‘My league.’ You wouldn’t know  _ what _ to do if you were in  _ my _ league,” he huffed. He swayed closer, his face mere inches from Dean’s. His eyes swept downwards, taking in the sight of Dean’s mouth, lips parted slightly in surprise, then roamed back up to meet Dean’s confused gaze with a dark look. He blinked once and reeled himself back to his full height. He pulled another five from his wallet and threw it on the bar.

“I’m finished. Let’s go,” he growled at Dean, and started strolling towards the door, swaying only slightly still with his hips - whether from the booze, or with the music, or both, Dean couldn’t tell. Dean (still lost, and slightly dazed by Sam’s sudden anger) jumped up after him, following him out as Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” blared through the nearly empty bar.


	2. Chapter 2

“What the hell was _that_ about?”

Sam shook his head, desperately trying to clear the fuzz that had settled in his brain as Dean approached where he stood waiting at the Impala. Dust from the parking lot settled around Dean’s denim-clad, bowed legs as he stopped to stand a few feet in front of him on the passenger side. Sam leaned into the warm metal, away from his brother, trying to put as much distance between them, short of running away. His cheeks were still hot from his earlier embarrassment at his brother’s teasing. And the alcohol; he could feel well the effects his rapid boozing had wrought.

The drinking had been unplanned, but it had felt necessary after the morning they’d - he’d - had. And really, it hadn’t been any one _big_ thing that had set him on this path, but rather a whole slew of little things - tiny, inconsequential moments that had been festering in Sam’s psyche all day and wearing him down to the mess he was now. He knew he couldn’t blame his brother for being upset - as far as Dean was concerned, their day had probably seemed normal, if not _better_ than normal; they’d executed a routine salt-n-burn the night before, then crashed into their motel room beds after quick showers, followed by a morning of breakfast and a cursory follow-up with the victim’s family before making their way out of town. The afternoon had been spent in relative peace, Dean driving the Impala down sunny back roads, their journey paused only once for lunch and gas until they’d reached the next decently-sized town. As was their usual habit when they had adequate funds, they’d checked into the local motel and, after dropping their duffels in their room, had cruised around until they’d found a bar to unwind in for the night.

Something inside Sam had cracked though, the moment he’d stepped out of the car, hurrying towards the entrance of the weathered hole-in-the-wall. Suddenly, he’d been on a mission, desperately seeking anything to help him push aside the feelings that had been building all day, the heavy weight of the culminated little things. And what exactly were those little things? Well. Sam gazed mutely at his brother, only a few feet in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs bowed in a slightly wider than usual stance, the picture of impatience and still staring expectantly at him over the dusty parking lot. Another frustrated puff of hot hair passed between Sam’s lips as his eyes roamed over his brother’s stubborn posture, and his inebriated mind swam with all the ‘little things’ that, try as he might to keep them from doing so, converged to form the mirror image of the man standing before him. Sam blinked, hard, and tried stepping further away, but he was trapped in place, pinned between his brother’s unwavering gaze and the smooth steel of the Impala at his back.

A thousand memories flashed through his mind - the way Dean’s back muscles bunched under his t-shirt in the moonlight as he’d taken his turn digging, grave dirt muddying the lines of sweat along his straining forearms; the cock-sure grin he’d given as he lit the match, the tiny flame briefly casting its glow over his face and highlighting every copper freckle across a nose smudged with fresh earth before he flicked it onto the bones six feet below; the strength of Dean’s hand and the warmth that spread where it clasped Sam’s shoulder as they walked back to the Impala together, dirty and exhausted, but high from the success of another case closed and already eager for the next hunt; the clean smell of cheap motel soap that rode waves of steam out of the bathroom behind Dean, and the way the thin, white towel around his waist clung to his thighs, and how Sam hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from roaming over his exposed body, taking a quick inventory to make sure that the scars already cataloged after previous hunts were still the only ones marring his brother’s tanned skin. In short, a deluge of moments from the past… twelve hours or so that had all been reminding Sam of one little, teensy tiny, infinitesimal, small, _huge_ , _life-altering_ detail - that he was in love with his brother.

Sam reeled his head back with a snap and his eyes went wild with fear. This was not a new revelation to him - Sam had been falling for Dean since he was old enough to realize what love was - but his heart had been very sensitive to the fact more and more lately; Sam had never seen any indication that Dean might feel the same way, and it was getting harder and harder for Sam to be okay with that. Sure, his brother _loved_ him - Sam knew he did, certain as he’d ever known anything - but the terrible ache of that unrequited _want_ was slowly eating away at Sam’s will. Throw his reckless five shots of whiskey and single beer in with a heightened level of pining from being so close and yet _so far_ from his brother in the last day, and Sam was feeling particularly vulnerable. Dean continued to stare at him, concerned, and Sam was simultaneously comforted by it and flayed wide open, leaving him feeling like his heart was slowly being torn from his chest by the steady gaze of his brother’s clear green eyes.

He looked upon Dean’s beautiful, beloved face for a few more seconds, searching for the words to ease his brother’s mind, to find an answer for his question and obvious consternation, but he could not seem to find any adequate response. With a heart-heavy sigh, he slumped against the passenger door, dropping his dizzy head into his upturned palms.

“Woah, hey, hey.” Dean swooped forward to grab Sam’s shoulders, hands drifting down to rest at his elbows, trying to pull them apart, get Sam to look at him again. “What’s goin’ on in that big head of yours, little brother?”

Sam couldn’t help it; the tears welled up in the face of Dean’s concern all of their own volition. Sam wanted to both lean forward and fall fully into his brother’s embrace, but also to tear his arms away and just start running, as long and hard as he possibly could. In his body’s distressed confusion, he ended up just choking back a sob as he gazed miserably at his older brother and felt his whole world crumble.

“Dean, I… ,” Sam pulled one hand away to wipe furiously at his face, averting his eyes to stare blankly at a point beyond Dean’s right shoulder. He inhaled deeply, his breath rattling inside his lungs and stuttering back out as a ragged sigh. He tried again to speak. “I… I have to… I… I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Wrenching his other arm out of Dean’s grasp, Sam turned away, moving as though to get inside the car. The next moment he found himself flung around, facing Dean again, this time with both Dean’s hands wrapped at the juncture of his neck and his thumbs resting on his clavicle. Dean was looking at him so intently, so determined to fix whatever wrong had occurred to make his brother this distressed.

“No. We are not leaving this parking lot until you get yourself together and _tell_ me what’s going on. What is it, Sammy? Please, let me help, help me make it - whatever this is - go away. C’mon, Sam, help me make it better.”

Dean’s words wrapped around Sam’s heart like a fist and squeezed, cutting free the breath from his lungs and causing him to gasp sharply. His brain sputtered for a moment more, one last-ditch effort to explain before it shut down completely and his broken heart took over. He brought his hands to grab Dean’s hips, lowered his head the few inches still separating them, and kissed his brother.

Sam’s lips landed softly against Dean’s. He did not do anything more than gently press against the curve of his mouth, closing his eyes and scarcely daring to breathe, so intent was he on memorizing their shape, the feeling of finally being this close to his brother, and praying that this wasn’t the last time, that this wouldn’t ruin absolutely everything.

 

***

 

To Dean’s credit, he did not pull back out of shock, though that was his immediate impulse. He simply stayed still and absorbed the feeling of his brother’s lips against his, and tried his best to interpret what exactly it was that Sam was trying to tell him. After a moment of standing there - arms loose at his sides, the only points of contact between them where their mouths touched and where Sam was still gripping his hips - Dean brought his hands up to frame his brother’s face and slowly pulled his own head away. Careful not to frighten his brother any more than he clearly already was, he only put about a foot of distance between them, just enough so he could look directly into Sam’s red-rimmed, watery eyes.

For Dean, the realization was like a wave crashing down on him in an ocean he’d been standing in his entire life without knowing it. As he stood there silently staring at his not-so-baby brother’s face, he looked beyond the boy he had practically raised himself, past the angry teen who had run away to college, and saw before him the beautiful man his brother had become. It was in that moment that he knew two things, without a doubt. One, Sam loved him, was _in_ love with him, and it was clearly tearing him apart, for reasons that Dean could probably make a pretty good guess at but which were unimportant now. Two, and this was the bigger surprise, Dean loved him back, in a way he never would have thought possible.

There was a fleeting thought - _is this only happening because Sam is drunk?_ \- but Dean dashed it from his mind as quickly as it had formed. He knew his brother well enough to know that his feelings had not only existed probably well before the involvement of liquor, but also that they likely had been the reason for Sam seeking solace from a bottle in the first place. _Stress relief, I knew it,_ Dean thought triumphantly, a smug look crossing unbidden over his face. Sam’s eyes shuttered at his expression though, and Dean moved quickly to wipe any lingering uncertainties from his brother’s mind in the only way he currently knew how - by reciprocating with some physical affection of his own.

“Sammy.” Dean breathed his brother’s name like a benediction, moving one hand to curve around the back of Sam’s neck to pull him forward; Dean lifted up slightly on the pads of his feet and lightly brushed his lips over Sam’s, gently pressing and nipping at his mouth, trying his best to communicate without words that everything was good, that they were okay - that he wanted this just as much.

 

***

 

Sam stood passively and let Dean control the kiss for several seconds, his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing shallow, his hands in a death grip where they still lay on his hips. When Dean licked at the line between his lips, sweetly begging forgiveness and entrance all at once, it was like a flip was switched, and Sam’s whole body came back to life.

With a long, desperate groan, Sam shifted his hands around Dean’s waist to grab at his ass and jerk him closer along his body, eliminating all space between them. He opened his mouth to his brother’s questing tongue, sliding over it with his own in an attempt to drink down every taste of Dean. Flexing his hands drew a moan from Dean, which he eagerly swallowed along with every other breath of their shared air. Every touch of Dean’s hands kneading along his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, sent little sparks of excitement shivering down Sam’s spine, lighting him up in a way no one else ever had. He could feel his arousal growing in his jeans, evidently matched by his brother; Dean rutted his hard length alongside his own, and Sam threw back his head on a whine, the delicious friction almost more than he could stand.

Suddenly, Dean stilled. He pressed one soft kiss to the side of Sam’s neck and pulled gently away, his hands coming to rest on Sam’s shoulders. Sam lowered his head to look at him as his brother stepped back minutely, his chest heaving as he forced the smallest amount of distance between their bodies. Dean’s eyes were screwed shut and he was panting, his head bowed towards Sam’s sternum as he held himself steady. Sam ducked down, lightly nudging his forehead against Dean’s in a silent question, a need for reassurance. His brother raised his head and opened his eyes, blinking back tears but smiling as he met Sam’s gaze.

“Hey there, little brother.” Dean’s voice was rough, deepened by the strength of his emotions. His vivid green eyes framed by long, curved lashes darted back and forth where they focused on Sam, seemingly seeking some sort of answer or affirmation himself.

“Hey,” Sam whispered back. He was surprised his voice worked at all, his heart was lodged so high in his throat with worry over everything that remained undisclosed and undetermined yet between them.

“So. This is what was eating at ya, huh?” Dean chuckled lightly. His brother always was pretty smart, Sam acknowledged wryly, actually very discerning once he had sufficient amounts of information.

“Um, yeah, I guess.” Sam felt himself turning red again, and he averted his gaze, glancing down to where his fingers were now playing with the edge of Dean’s worn leather jacket. He looked up again when Dean grabbed him by the chin and gently lifted to make him meet his eyes again.

“You _guess_? Come on, Sammy. If we’re gonna figure this thing out, I need you to be sure.” Dean searched his face, his own eyes wide and his expression so open, so hopeful, yet still shadowed by uncertainty. Sam drew a deep breath, but it got stuck in his throat as it began to dawn on him, the absolute enormity of the situation, the momentous precipice upon which they stood. He froze, staring helplessly into his brother’s anxious gaze.

“Sammy!” Dean shook him by the shoulders, his voice edged with desperation. Sam snapped out of his terrified reverie and began grasping at Dean’s hips, nodding fervently as he gasped out his response, the sudden flow of words fast-acting to seal their fate.

“Yes, Dean, god. Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, certain of _you._ God. You’re my everything, Dean.” His voice broke on a sob, feeling the truth of that fact in his very soul. “My _everything_.”

Dean raised his palm to cup Sam’s cheek then, his thumb gently wiping away the wetness that Sam hadn’t even noticed was there.

“Shh, shh shh. It’s okay, baby boy, I got you,” Dean soothed, much in the same way he had ever since they were children. Sam shut his eyes and leaned into the touch, letting the presence of his brother calm and ground him until his world righted itself and he found his center again.

Dean pressed another soft kiss against Sam’s lips, his palms framing Sam’s face as he pulled them closer together once again. The heat from before had abated, but the promise of more simmered beneath the surface. Sam trembled with the thought. Growing bolder with every moment of contact from his brother, he raised his eyes to take in the sight of him. Dean was undeniably gorgeous, his face flushed from exertion and glowing with a happiness that Sam hadn’t seen anywhere near his brother for far, far too long. He was willing to do everything in his power to keep that look on his brother’s face for as long as possible.

“And? What about you, Dean? You really feel the same?” Sam asked, needing the clarity, knowing his brother’s tendency to repress and hide his true feelings.

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean smiled up at him, and the brilliance of it literally took Sam’s breath away. “Gotta be honest with ya, brother mine - I didn’t know the _specifics_ of how I felt until…” he blushed, shrugging one shoulder adorably, “until, well, you know, just now, but you’ve always been my everything, too. You’ve always been _mine_. Because you are mine, aren’t you Sammy.”

It wasn’t a question.

Sam brought his hands up to circle Dean’s wrists. He pulled their arms away from his face, lowering them just to intertwine their fingers, keeping them pressed between their bodies.

“Always been yours, Dean. Will be for as long as you’ll have me.” He held his brother’s gaze, all effects of his previously imbibed alcohol long-forgotten by his system, replaced instead by the buzz of finally having his brother exactly as close as he’d always longed to have him.

“So… forever?” he replied with a flash of white teeth and one eyebrow cocked - the patented Dean Winchester smirk. Sam grinned back and nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Alrighty then,” Dean smiled, resolved. He squeezed their fingers together and pressed one more kiss to Sam’s lips before moving to the driver’s side of the Impala, ready to head back to their motel and eager for whatever else their night might hold. “Sounds worth a shot to me.”

And it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to [gluedwithgold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold) and [non_tiembo_mala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala) for the WIP beta-ing and input.
> 
> Also - I wrote this with the mindset that it took place in season one, but, as my lovely beta [gluedwithgold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold) pointed out, it could conceivably take place at any time during the series, so I shall leave that up to your preference! ;) Thank you, as always, for reading! <3


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